


Guardian

by howldax



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-24
Updated: 2019-05-24
Packaged: 2020-02-08 12:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howldax/pseuds/howldax
Summary: Freddy gets what's coming to him. [inspired by an art piece on tumblr; link in author's notes!]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this piece was inspired by this post: https://dakotamarquardt.tumblr.com/post/183388442533/freddy-is-portrayed-as-a-dream-demon-which + me watching anoes 2010 and remembering all over again how much i fuckin hate freddy krueger! 
> 
> tw for implied/referenced csa & noncon and freddy being a creep to similar levels he is in the film. i didn't put an underage warning because i don't want it to be in the same category as some of the nasty stuff out there, and there's certainly nothing explicit in here, only implications and obvious references, but if it's something that may be triggering to you then please be cautious!
> 
> i didn't take much time to develop context for this, but in this dbd interpretation the woods around the campfire overlap with the woods around the killers' campfire, allowing both survivors and killers to roam certain areas. i have something else with that concept half written, so maybe this will end up being a series of drabbles!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip meets one of the people he hunts outside of a trial, and meets Kreuger as well, though Kreuger doesn't yet meet him in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote this after i'd published chapter 2, so it's sort of a prequel, i guess? i just love philip and i love claudette and i love writing them interacting!

Philip never wanted to hurt the souls he killed in this realm. In the early days, before he learned what punishment felt like, before he understood that poor performance meant a loss of self, an artificial fury that he couldn't recognise or control, he used to watch them from the spirit world as they worked. They smiled, they helped each other with gentle hands; a few even held hands, their first few trials, as they crept from place to place. 

And then Philip would ring the wailing bell, heart heavy, and watch their fear send them scattering away from each other. 

He cannot afford to be kind. The Entity had made that clear when his newly hard, bark-like skin had grown across his mouth, a warning of what else could be taken if he didn't fulfil his purpose. He killed many of the souls before he got his mouth back, and the sound of his own ragged breathing almost made him fall to his knees and weep. 

He is kind anyway. He cannot let them escape, must sacrifice them to the creature that created him as he is now, but he tries at least to be fair. The dark-skinned girl sometimes picks plants in the trials, furtively shoving them into a pouch on her belt, and he always waits for her to finish before he uncloaks, and gives her a head start so she has a chance of keeping her precious cargo. The running girl, the one with the pigtails, wears trainers with laces that had once come undone as he chased her, the shoe sticking in the mud of the swamp and coming clean off her foot. Philip had heard her curse, and realised what had happened in the next moment. He cloaked, moving away, and waited for her to creep back for her trainer and re-tie the laces. 

When he'd uncloaked, ready to begin the chase anew, she'd tilted her head thoughtfully and said, "Hey, thanks. Shoes are hard to come by here." before she darted off behind a boat, and the chase was back on. 

Philip is ashamed to say that his fear of punishment prevents him from true kindness, but at least he doesn't torment the souls like some of the other killers. The Pig's traps, the Doctor's madness... Philip considers himself certainly less troublesome to face than them. He gives a sporting chance. 

The woods around the campfire of the souls and the woods around the campfire of the killers overlap in places. Philip isn't sure why; to keep the souls afraid even outside of the arenas? To tease the killers with their prey, so close but untouchable when bathed in the campfire's glow? The woods themselves are dangerous for the souls - if they're caught out there, in the darkness of the trees, they can be hurt, though no killer has managed to kill any outside of a trial. Philip is glad for that, at least.

Most of the killers don't bother with the woods, preferring to spend time alone when not in trials. The thirst for blood fades when not actively doing the Entity's bidding. Philip likes the woods because they are quiet, ever-changing in the tiniest ways. It feels as though he explores them anew each time he sets out, even though the differences are minute enough to not really matter. He walks in the spirit world, to avoid other killers and avoid disturbing any souls who may be out collecting plants or merely spending some time by themselves, his feet pit-patting against the fallen leaves and hard dirt the only sign that he's there. 

Today is no different. He walks, invisible and alone, tracing the wailing bell absently with one finger, feeling the dips and whorls in the metal. The last trial he had caught all but one of the souls, and as usual their screams of pain haunt his footsteps. He is so caught up in the grief of remembering that he almost walks into the dark skinned girl as she crouches, digging with her hands in the dirt. Philip stops just in time and takes a moment to watch her. 

She has dark skin, just like his used to be, and locs tied back into a loose ponytail to keep them out of her face. Philip's hair was generally short, but it still makes him miss having it - his scalp now is bare but for the branch-like growths where his hairline used to be. After a moment he realises she is humming, and after another he recognises it as Anna's lullaby. He smiles. Anna would like that. 

"You can come out, Wraith," the girl says, pausing in her work and turning to look over her shoulder. Her eyes aren't focused - he's still invisible - but she can obviously tell his general direction. She has the slightest lilt of a French accent in her voice. Philip takes a step back. 

"I'm not frightened," the girl continues. "If you wanted to hurt me you would have uncloaked already. Come and say hello?" 

Philip hesitates, but hits Azarov's skull against the wailing bell, feeling the familiar burn of his body exiting the spirit realm and entering this one. The girl smiles.

"Hello, Wraith. Even when you're invisible we can hear your breathing, you know. And you create a sort of shimmer in the air like a heat haze. Why do you watch us so often?" 

It's embarrassing that they've noticed. Philip always thought himself hidden. He shrugs, nervous to speak. This all feels strangely illicit. 

"Okay," the girl says. "You can come closer, you know. I don't bite. You can help me dig for dandelion roots, if you like." 

"Why?" Philip asks, wincing when it rasps out harshly. He hasn't spoken for so long. The girl looks surprised, and then pleased. 

"Well, I think you're lonely," she says. "That's why you're always watching us, right? You don't have to admit it or anything, that's just my theory. And Meg's. So come help me dig, and we can talk if you want." 

Philip, feeling completely surreal, kneels beside her in the dirt. He's still at least two heads taller than her, even kneeling, but she doesn't seem intimidated. He's killed her, many times, and she doesn't seem to care. 

"My name is Claudette," she says. "What's yours? I'm sure it's not actually Wraith." 

Philip has only ever been Philip to himself. "My name..." he starts, and then pauses. It will be even harder to hurt the souls in trials if they call his name out, his real name. "I can't," he says, mouth twisting a little. It hurts, his bark-skin jabbing against the more flexible skin of his lips. Claudette gives him a thoughtful look. 

"I won't tell the others, if that makes it easier," she offers. "They can find out by themselves." 

One, he thinks he can manage. And she likely won't use it in trials for fear of breaking her promise and revealing his name to the others, but... how does he know he can trust her? 

Philip looks down at her face, which is open and guileless, and thinks of his little sister, back in the real world. She wore similar glasses too. 

"Philip," he says. "Philip Ojomo." Claudette's grin looks as though it must hurt, she smiles so wide. 

"Nice to meet you, Philip," she says, and holds out a muddy hand to shake. Philip takes it, careful, feeling her soft palm against his rough skin. "You wanna help me dig for dandelion root? I'm going to try to make coffee with it." 

Philip, not trusting his voice, just nods, and helps her look in silence until the fog calls him back for a trial. He stands reluctantly, brushing his muddy hands against his legs. Claudette looks up at him and frowns. 

"You're going?" she asks, and almost sounds disappointed. Philip nods. 

"I must go when I am summoned," he says. "...Thank you." 

"For what?" Claudette asks. 

"For your kindness," Philip answers, giving her a quick bow before he clangs the wailing bell and returns to the spirit realm for his journey back. 

Faintly, he hears Claudette say, "You too," as he moves away, but he doesn't stop, walking until the fog surrounds him and everything goes dark. 

\-- 

Claudette isn't in the woods when he returns from his trial, bloody and exhausted. The redhead had distracted him for most of the trial, staying just out of reach, teasing him as she slammed pallets down on his head. He only managed to sacrifice one soul, in the end. 

Philip makes his way to the souls' campfire and watches them, cloaked, from the tree line. None of them are watching for him, so he feels fairly certain that they won't spot him if he stays still, and the commotion can be heard from far outside the campfire's range. He can't help curiosity, especially in a world that's usually unchanging. 

It seems the souls have a new addition who is the cause of all the excitement. Philip remembers Amanda mentioning a new soul in her last trial, but it often takes them a little while to find the others. If they die, they can't find the fire if they've never been there before, and they tend to end up wandering the woods instead until they escape a trial with the others. 

Philip has met the new killer who entered the realm at the same time as this soul, as they often seem to, appearing in pairs. He's not a fan - something about the burned man makes him uncomfortable, even having not spent much time around him. 

He'd introduced himself as Krueger, Freddy Krueger, sliding his blades against each other in a quick, unsettling scissor motion that made them sing. Philip had not uncloaked, letting the others introduce themselves. Nobody mentioned Philip; the other killers know that if he wishes to be involved, he'll use the wailing bell and reveal himself. 

Krueger had his first trial fairly early on, and had come back emanating a satisfied smugness that made something crawl down Philip's spine. 

"What's got you all pumped up?" Evan grumbled. He isn't a fan of arrogance. 

"I was hoping my Nancy would have joined me here," Krueger said. His bladed hand flexed. "But it's dear little Quentin. He'll do, for now. We had fun, a long time ago. Not as much fun as I had with Nancy, but I guess beggars can't be choosers." And he'd laughed, low and long, and even Evan had seemed unsettled. 

The new soul must be Quentin, then. Philip remembers Krueger saying 'a long time ago', and his heart sinks. Quentin doesn't look old enough for a long time ago. 


	2. Chapter 2

It's... a lot to deal with. Quentin had only just come to terms with whatever Freddy Krueger was when the Entity took him and stuck him in this place, and learning that Krueger is here too was both a relief and a devastating blow. 

He'd finally managed to escape that trial, having watched Jake fall to Krueger's talons, and had found his way to the campfire with Meg's hand clutching firmly to his. He hadn't expected so many people, honestly. He's always been an introvert, and this many people is too many to deal with all at once. He lasts the initial introductions, and then flees to the woods. 

They're unnervingly dark, but the silence is soothing after so much noise. Sleep deprivation makes him even more susceptible to overstimulation than he already naturally is. Quentin wanders for a while until he finds a clearing, and sits on the dirt, trying to process. He bows his head, running anxious fingers through his curls. 

"Fancy seeing you here," says a familiar voice. Quentin's head shoots up. 

"No, no-" 

"Yes, yes," Freddy says, grinning as he moves forwards, scratching lines into the bark of the trees as he passes them. "You really thought these woods were just for you? How self absorbed." His expression darkens. "As always." 

"Leave me alone!" Quentin says, and stumbles upright, blinking hard. Freddy can't hurt him if he's awake. The trees around him swim when he opens his eyes. 

"We're in the same world now," Freddy says. "You're trapped here with me, and it's your fault I didn't get to keep my Nancy forever. I plan on having a lot of fun with you."

He stalks forwards and backhands Quentin across the face, sending him flying backwards. His face slams into the ground and he bites his tongue with the impact. Fury rises in his throat. 

"I don't even care that I'm stuck in here with you," Quentin spits, flopping over and propping himself up weakly on his elbows. His head is spinning. "I might not be able to leave, but that means you can't either! You'll never see Nancy again, you sick freak. She's finally safe, and there's nothing you can do about it!" Blood leaks down his chin and Freddy laughs, a cold, knowing thing. One of his bladed fingertips trails from Quentin's bottom lip to his chin, fresh blood spilling from the cut. 

"She might have been my favourite," Freddy says, "but I always liked you too, Quentin. Don't you remember the games we used to play? We had so much fun." 

His finger continues downwards, sliding down Quentin's neck, cutting a thin line through his shirt to his navel. Quentin grabs Freddy's wrist as it keeps going, halting it in place. 

"Fuck off," he says, trying not to let his voice tremble. Freddy's words are bringing back the memories he had tried so hard to push down; he can't think about what happened. This whole world is too much even without his trauma replaying in his mind. Freddy laughs again. 

"Besides," he says, putting his face so close to Quentin's that he can see where the fire had burned clean through his cheek, leaving withered tendons stretching tenuously across the gap, his teeth visible through it. "What makes you think I have to stay here all the time like you do?" 

Quentin's heart drops. "Shut up," he says. "You're lying." 

"I visit your little girlfriend every night, Quentin," Freddy murmurs, brushing his blades across Quentin's chest, mirroring the scars there. "Every night she falls asleep, and I'm there, and you wouldn't believe the fun we have together." 

Again, that laugh echoes through the air around them. Quentin shoves his palms against his ears, trying to block it out, but finds it slips insidiously through his head regardless. There's no escape for him, he thinks, and the only thing that had been comforting him in this hellhole was the knowledge that if Krueger was trapped here too, then Nancy was safe. With that assurance ripped away, Quentin feels dread rise up in his throat and gags, retching. Freddy lets him roll to the side and vomit, still laughing. 

"Fuck you," Quentin gasps, stomach churning. His faith had waned pretty significantly since everything with Krueger, and being taken by the Entity - what kind of God would let this happen? - but he still finds himself clutching the cross around his neck for comfort. 

"You know, Nancy said the exact same thing to me when we got reacquainted," Freddy says, grinning. "Neither of you are much for foreplay, huh?" Freddy pulls Quentin's arm so he's once again lying on his back, chest heaving, and taps his blades against Quentin's stomach. "She still sounds as sweet as she did when she was little," he says, catching Quentin's wrists when he tries to hit him, laughing again. "She still cries just as pretty." 

Quentin screams, twisting, tears squeezing involuntarily from his closed eyes. He's got no leverage; Freddy on his hips, hands wrapped around both of Quentin's wrists to pin them to the dirt. "Leave her alone!" he shouts, feeling his voice break. "Just leave her alone!" 

"I don't think so," Freddy says. "You're both mine forever, boy, and the s-" 

Freddy stops talking, his hands releasing Quentin's wrists with a gasp, and Quentin scrabbles backwards automatically until his back hits a tree trunk. It takes a second, but he realises that there's a reason for Krueger's sudden silence; the side of his neck is spurting black blood, spilling between Freddy's fingers as he tries to stem the flow, eyes wide and mouth moving without sound.

"What the fuck," Quentin whispers, torn between horror and relief, as Freddy jerks as though hit by an invisible blow, a second gash opening up across his already mangled face. A third appears across his neck, and then another across his cheek, his head snapping to the side with enough force to break his neck. He falls to the forest floor with a heavy thump. 

"What the fuck," Quentin whispers again, shivering. A bell tolls, echoing through the trees, and a tall, thin creature wrapped in bandages and some sort of dark shroud slowly comes into view in a shimmering mass of sparks and embers. Quentin curls up smaller against the tree. 

"What are you?" he asks the creature, staring at it as it tilts its head at him. It's almost treelike, skin rough and gnarled like bark, with glowing white eyes in its dark face. Quentin realises that it's holding what looks like a skull and spine with a blade pushed into the skeletal face; the weapon drips black blood onto the dead leaves around the creature's feet. 

"You killed him," Quentin says, fear overtaken by awed gratitude. The creature nods, wiping the blood from its weapon with its forearm. "Why?" 

The creature hesitates. "You can sleep now," it says, breaths snarling out from between its lips. "I will guard you. He will take time to come back." 

Quentin hasn't slept, truly slept, for as long as he can remember at this point. His brain steals micro naps when he's by the campfire, and sometimes he finds a quiet corner in a trial and just sleeps until he is found and sacrificed, but uninterrupted sleep? True sleep? He barely even hesitates. 

"Thank you," he says thickly, feeling fresh tears well in his eyes. The blood on his chin is tacky and flaking now; he rubs at it with the collar of his shirt, and then curls up at the base of the tree, trying to find something comfortable to rest his head on. After a few minutes of restless shuffling, he hears the sound of fabric moving against itself and turns over to see the creature removing its odd poncho, folding it into a bundle and crouching to hand it over. Quentin takes it with a shaking hand; it's dirty with blood and mud, and doesn't smell good at all, but it's more comfortable than the bare ground or a tree root. He smiles gratefully. 

"Thank you," he says again, eyes trailing over the creature's poncholess body. It has a fairly human physique, underneath; a narrow waist tapering into a slim but defined chest, mud obscuring the skin of its neck and covering its face. It has bandages wrapped thickly from around its hips to its mid-thigh to preserve modesty, but little else. Quentin feels his face redden. 

"Aren't you cold?" he asks. "Or, uh, embarrassed?" 

The creature shrugs. "I do not get cold anymore," it says. "And modesty is not important in this place. I am barely even human." Quentin thinks it sounds sad. 

"Saving me was pretty human," he says. "I don't think a monster would have cared." He yawns. "I'm sure you heard, but I'm Quentin, by the way. Seeing as we're friends, or whatever." 

The creature shakes its head, watching him as his eyelids grow heavy. "We cannot be friends, Quentin," it says. "But I am glad to have helped you. My name is Philip." 

"Mhm," Quentin says, trying to stay awake and finding it impossible. "Nice t'meet you..." 

His breaths even out into sleep, and Philip brushes a hand across his mop of curly hair. "Sleep easy, little one," he says softly, and then straightens back up. He made a promise, and he intends to keep it. Weapon in hand, he stands over the sleeping soul, and waits.

**Author's Note:**

> fuck freddy rights! die a thousand deaths bitch
> 
> i don't believe freddy CAN actually go back into the real world's dream world (if that makes sense) once he's been taken by the entity, but he's absolutely furious that his plan was ruined by both nancy + quentin and the entity, and i absolutely believe that if given the chance he would torment quentin in whatever ways he can. pretending to still have access to nancy would be a devastating blow to our poor boy :(
> 
> find me at chained2012 on tumblr!


End file.
